


Road to Hell

by SaberAltered



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Caesar's Legion, Gun Violence, Johnny Cash and Musical Theatre references galore, Misogyny, Multi, Slavery, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27112568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaberAltered/pseuds/SaberAltered
Summary: A Frumentarius with a forbidden lover and a shrinking cage.A courier with no memories but that of a checkered suit and a platinum chip.The two have more in common than meets the eye, but they walk two separate paths, leading to the same destination - Vegas.
Kudos: 4





	Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a rewrite of sorts to 'Que Sera, Sera.' I'm gonna keep it contained to a bunch of one shots, since I don't have the time or attention span to update regularly (oops).
> 
> Also, happy 10th anniversary, FNV!

She woke up to humming. It sounded like an older man, based on the tone and slow, careful footsteps. The air was cold, and she opened her eyes to see a fan overhead.

Last she remembered, she was running this package to Vegas, when this guy in this hideous checkered suit stole the package and shot her.

She clambered up, causing her vision to collapse, and her nausea spiked up.

The man rushed to her as she snatched a small trash pail and vomited. He pulled her hair back, and she tried to mutter a _Thank You_ when she realized that she wasn't quite done yet.

"There, there," she heard the man say as he began rubbing small circles into her back.

When her stomach had nothing else to give, he took the pail from her, and said something about cleaning it up before limping over to the adjoining bathroom. Her ears wouldn't stop ringing. A look down revealed that she only wore her tank top and shorts, thankfully not covered in vomit.

"Here you go. Make sure you get your hair too," the man said, holding a rag out for her. She accepted with as close to a smile as she could manage.

"Thank you," she rasped. "How long have I been out?"

"Hmm, I'd say about five or six days," he said. "Yeah, because you came in here Friday evening, and it's Thursday morning."

"Shit," she muttered. "Looks like I gotta go."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on there. We don't know what the damage is."

"Not bad enough that I forgot about my job," she said. She pushed the covers off. "Thank you so much for healing me, I have no idea how to repay you, but I _really_ need to leave."

"Well, can you at least tell me your name?" The man asked.

Her name? She racked her brain for any details beyond her last moments… and nothing.

"I… don't remember." Her voice cracked.

"That's a pity. I'm Doc Mitchell. Welcome to Goodsprings."

_Checkered Suit may not have killed me, but he has killed my appetite_ , she mused as she stared down her plate. She had only managed a few bites of her eggs, too preoccupied with figuring out what the fuck was going on. Doc Mitchell had run some tests on her, and would run a few more once she was done eating.

According to him, she was quite perceptive, and smart. She was adequately agile, and fairly charismatic, but strength and endurance evaded her.

She poked at her eggs. She should at least take one more bite. _No, I'm not going to be rude_ , she told herself.

"I'll be right back," she told Doc Mitchell as he took her plate.

She took a good long look at herself in the mirror, in hopes that maybe some memories would come back, but all that came up was the graveyard.

 _"You've made your last delivery, kid,"_ the man's voice echoed. _"From where you're kneeling, it seems like an 18-karat run of bad luck. Truth is, the game was rigged from the start."_

She tried to slow her breathing. The bullet scar itched, but she didn't want to mess with the Doc's handiwork.

Instead, she turned on the faucet, and rubbed some cool water into her face.

Large brown eyes stared back at her as she tried to smooth her dark curls. Oh, what she wouldn't do for a hairbrush.

She returned to the kitchen, where the Doc was waiting for her.

"You ready?"

She nodded.

"Then follow me. I promise it won't take too long, I just want to make sure that bullet didn't leave you nuttier than a bighorner dropping."

 _I'm pretty sure it already has_ , she mused to herself.

The Doc had her sit on the sofa while he sat across from her. She picked at the fuzz poking out of the armrest as he flipped through his book.

"All right. I'm going to say a word. I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind."

"Fire away."

"Dog."

"Feed."

"House."

"Shelter."

"Night."

"Dream."

"Bandit."

There she was again, staring down the barrel of Checkered Suit's gun. If her hands hadn't been tied…

"Swiss cheese."

"Light."

"Flash."

"Mother."

Did she even have a mother? And if she did, did she know that her daughter was still alive? Would she ever even find her, without any memories?

"Regret."

Doc Mitchell hmm'ed before flipping to the next page. He scribbled down notes before looking back up at her.

"Okay. Now I've got a few statements. I want you to tell me how much they sound like something you'd say."

She nodded.

"First one. 'Conflict just ain't in my nature.'"

There was a ghost of a memory of a fight - too brightly lit to be Checkered Suit, because she swore she had blood on her hands.

"Disagree."

"I ain't given to rely on someone for support."

"I… don't know."

He flips the page.

"'I'm always fixing to be the center of attention.'"

She shook her head.

"No. Disagree."

"'I charge in to deal with my problems head on.'"

From what she could vaguely remember, she was a confrontational person, so…

"Strongly agree."

"'I'm slow to embrace new ideas.'"

"Disagree."

While the doctor flipped to another section, she turned her attention to the window. The faded yellow and pink of early morning had given way to a bright blue.

The Doc cleared his throat. He had pulled up an inkblot test.

"What do you say you have a look at this? Tell me what you see."

"That first one looks like a chemical reaction."

"Okay." He flips to the next image. "How about this one?"

"I'm… embarrassed to say what it looks like."

"Last one." He flips the page to an inkblot that looked like a mushroom cloud.

"That's a mushroom cloud," she said.

"Well, that's all she wrote." He closed his book, and handed his notepad to her. "I don't have nothing to compare it to, so maybe you'd better have a look at the results. See if it seems alright to you."

She scanned the notes, just to make sure everything matched up.

"Sounds about right," she said as she traded the notes for a form.

"Now, before I turn you loose I need one more thing from you. We got a form for you to fill out so I can get a sense of your medical history."

 _Yeah, I have no idea what my medical history is,_ she mused as she filled it out. _I do have a fairly small frame, though. And weird shit always happens to me._

"Here you go." She signed the sheet and handed it back to the doctor.

"Alright, I guess that about does it. Come with me, I'll see you out."

A familiar brown satchel sat right beside the door.

"Is that mine?" she asked.

"Sure is. Was all you had on you when you was brought in."

He stopped down to get it, but she picked it up first.

There was giant brown stain on the lining of the bag, and the contents - a teddy bear, a delivery note, and a canteen from vault 13, of all places - were sticky from what must have been a Nuka-Cola.

"I hope you don't mind, but I gave the note a look," the doc said. In his hands was a familiar bright blue and gold batch of clothing. "I thought it might help me find a next of kin. But it was just something about a Platinum Chip."

She pulled the note back out. The bottom corner was drenched, but not enough that she couldn't make out the Mojave Express order.

She ducked back into the room she had woken up in to change into the vault suit. Doc Mitchell had been worried the locals would pick on her for lacking modesty, but as she put on the suit, she also wondered if she would end up becoming more of a target. It wasn't like the blue and gold was very subtle. But, clothes were clothes, and it was awfully kind of Doc Mitchell to loan them to her.

Once the suit was zipped up, she gave her bag another look. The thing had a side pocket. Figuring that it may be a little more fruitful, she unzipped it.

She fished out a picture completely coated in pink powder (probably from the broken compact also in the bag). She rubbed it off to see a younger version of her, flanked by two smiling adults.

_Were these my parents?_

Doc Mitchell knocked.

"I'm coming!" she called as she stooped down to pick up the photo. "Be out in a second!"

She dusted off the makeup before answering the door.

Doc Mitchell had what looked like a very large bracelet.

"If you're heading back out there, you ought to have this. They call it a Pip-Boy."

She let Doc Mitchell strap the thing to her arm.

"I grew up in one of them Vaults they made before the war. We all got one. Ain't much use to me now, but you might want such a thing, after what you been through. I know what it's like, having something taken from you."

"Thank you, Doc."

"Don't mention it. It's what I'm here for."

She helped him tighten the straps before waving the thing around. It was already coming to life, displaying a chart of her body. The weight would take some getting used to, but the radio sure wouldn't. She burst into a little dance as the big band music came on.

Doc Mitchell chuckled. She took him into her little dance, much to his protestations, but his grin was contagious.

"Thank you for that, even if my old bones aren't what they used to be," he admitted once the song came to a close. "My wife and I used to dance all the time, back in the vault. What was that one she liked? I think it went something like, 'I fell into that burning ring of fire, went down, down, and the flames kept gettin' higher.'"

She nodded. It sounded vaguely familiar.

"Anyway, you should talk to Sunny Smiles, before you leave town. She can help you learn to fend for yourself in the desert. She'll likely be at the saloon. I reckon some of the other folks at the saloon may be able to help you out, too. And the metal fella, Victor, who pulled you outta your grave. Anyway, you ever get hurt out there, you come right back. I'll fix you up. But try not to get killed anymore."

"Thanks, I'll try," she said. With that, she took the doctor into a hug.

 _Well, let's see if this works out,_ she told herself as she took a deep breath and opened the door.


End file.
